


Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant

by alpha_hydra



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Haru being Haru, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nanase Haruka and Mackerel, Summer Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_hydra/pseuds/alpha_hydra
Summary: The Olympics are looming, and this is Haru's last chance to qualify. Trust Rin to show up in the middle of the night to talk some sense into him. Well, to talk about something, anyway.
Relationships: Matsuoka Rin/Nanase Haruka
Comments: 17
Kudos: 130





	Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an excuse to write 4k of pure yearning so enjoy xoxo
> 
> The title is from one of all time favorite love poems "i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)" by e.e. cummings
> 
> ps: the only thing I know about swimming competitions is from some haphazard googling so if you actually know about that stuff, ignore the hand -waving, yeah? 
> 
> Set in a theoretical universe where the last season happens two years before the Olympics.

The three basic rules of competitive swimming (according to Haru's coach at least):

Number one: There is no special trick to getting better. It takes hard work and getting up every fucking morning. You just have to do it, and do it every day, especially on the days that you don’t want to, because those are the days when you most need to.

Number two: Every time you get in that water, you give it 100%. Yes, every time, even training. Even when you’re nursing a hangover. If you’re not, then why are you even here? 

(When pressed, he eventually adds that yes, if you have an injury then you give it 100% too. It’s just that your 100% that day is different than any other day. What matters is the mindset, not the output, and what’s with all the questions, Nanase? Planning on throwing out your back sometime soon?)

And Number three (Number three is the most important, he stresses every time he goes over this, so everyone Pay Attention): You can never think you’ve won that race until the race is over and the announcer’s screaming your name over the intercoms. There’s always gonna be someone who wants it more than you, and the minute you think you’ve won, you’ve given them an inch. An inch where they can sneak up on you. Don’t give them that inch. You can visualize yourself winning during practice if that’s what motivates you, but when it’s race-time? You don’t assume you’ve won until you’ve won, dammit.

All that other stuff--the form and strength training--that can be taught and mastered through hard work and a good damn coach. But if you can’t live by these three rules, then you’re never gonna make it in competitive swimming. 

(Haru mostly agrees with this, but he could do without the swearing.)

After some thought, Haru does think that there's probably a few more rules that could be added. Swimming from the heart, for example, but his coach laughed for so long when Haru suggested it that he stopped suggesting it. 

*

Haru thinks of this every day leading up to Worlds. Not his coach laughing at him, but rather what precisely it means to follow such a simple set of rules. Ever since the All-Japan invitational where he’d actually figured out what he wanted out of his swimming career. He takes his time during warm-up routines and contemplates these rules. Coach calls him distracted, and lackadaisical, but it helps him remember to care about all the numbers and the times, so mostly coach leaves him to it. 

And for the most part, he thinks he lives up to them pretty well. He still isn’t particularly competitive, so most of his motivation is generated internally anyway. How he can get his body to beat a qualifying time, how to beat his own personal best, how to feel the water even when he’s stressed. 

But then. Then he feels that dark undertow that is Albert Wahlander’s body slicing through the water again, and a dread he hasn’t felt since his first year in college sinks into the pit of his stomach again. 

He places fourth by .002 seconds in the finals of the hundred meter, and it’s then that a realization hits him like a pile of bricks in his diaphragm.

He’s been expecting to win. All this time. He just hasn’t noticed because _he has been winning_. 

What has he been doing these past two years? 

“You did your best,” Kisumi says later that night, and a chorus of sympathetic affirmations follow after. 

Asahi nods along, and Makoto is smiling in a way that is so completely genuine that it hurts Haru, just a little. He isn’t sure why. Ikuya is staring down at his bowl of soba, seemingly lost in thought. 

“Did I?” Haru asks somewhat rhetorically. 

“Of course you did, Haru,” Makoto replies easily. His hand rests on Haru’s elbow for the briefest of seconds before he pulls away again to slurp his own ramen. “You only swim when you want to,” he continues after a mouthful of broth. “And you only ever swim with your whole heart when you want to swim. Why would today be any different?”

“Because he lost,” Ikuya finally says. Everyone’s eyes swivel to him instantly. When he looks up, his gaze feels like it pins Haru to his seat. It’s sharp, searching. Painful, almost. 

True. Ikuya has always understood what goes on in Haru's mind better than Haru himself. 

“Ikuya,” Asahi whispers, but Ikuya just shakes his head once, his eyes never leaving Haru.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Ikuya asks, and Haru can’t answer the question honestly, not right now. 

Not when Asahi failed to qualify for worlds in the first place, not with the bronze IM medal hiding neatly in Ikuya’s bag. Not when one is going to the Olympics and the other isn't.

Haru sets his chopsticks down calmly.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he says, to the great displeasure of the group around them. 

“Come on, Haru,” Kisumi cajoles, while Makoto sends him a frown that says entirely too much. 

“We’ll make Ikuya keep his mouth shut, we promise!” Asahi exclaims, his hand already wound around Ikuya’s wrist. 

Ikuya looks mildly offended by this, but when he turns back to Haru, the ever so tiny downturn of his lips at least says something else. Something more complicated. 

Something Haru could decode easily, if his mind wasn't buzzing with--with--

“Haru,” Ikuya says, a plea and an apology both. 

Haru stands and slings his duffel over his shoulder without a word. He doesn't even know what he's feeling, but he knows he can't stay here.

“Let me know you get home safe, Haru,” Makoto says, and Haru waves a hand idly over his shoulder in acknowledgement.

Haru doesn’t go home.

Instead, his feet lead him idly to a pier not two kilometers from where his friends have been eating dinner. It’s cloudy tonight, and so the heavy clouds obscure the full moon. Fitting, he thinks, for the gloomy, overcast mood he’s in. There’s a chill coming in over the ocean as well, an unwelcome cold front in the middle of summer.

Haru thinks it’s about time. He’s ready for winter. There’s months yet to it, but he doesn’t care. Anything would be better than the ever-present call of the ocean right now.

There’s a silhouette up ahead. It’s leaning against a post where the railing has dropped off. Haru feels a tingle of energy race up his spine as he heads towards the shadow. The shape of it is achingly familiar, like Haru could run his fingers along the black shape of it and transform it into something precious. His fingers twitch at the thought.

Then again, he half-expects it to be a complete stranger because that would be just his luck, wouldn’t it? Out of the cold, entreating darkness, a hopefully familiar silhouette will transform into something unfamiliar and unwelcome. Something much colder than the humid night air. But as Haru approaches, the silhouette turns towards him, no doubt hearing his footsteps, and then yes, Rin smiles at him, easy as if they’d arranged the meeting.

(If he thinks about it, he’d probably stop to consider that this is much more his luck than the other option. He and Rin coincidentally meeting in the dead of night when Haru doesn’t want to see people. Rin’s knife-sharp grin easing the hard bite of anxiety clutched around his heart. It always comes back to Rin, doesn’t it?

But he doesn’t think about it. Right now, all he knows is the grateful pang in his spine and the instant way his own shoulders relax at the sight of him.)

“Hey,” Rin says, pushing off the wall and taking the last few steps towards Haru. 

They stare at each other for a long stretch of heartbeats, until Rin finally huffs a breath and crosses the last half-meter or so between them. Then he folds Haru into his arms. He squeezes Haru like they've not met in years, his face pressed up against Haru's neck and the tips of his fingers trembling where he clutches Haru's windbreaker.

“Hello, Rin,” Haru says, his hands coming up and grabbing onto the hem of Rin’s shirt. “I didn’t see you today. I thought--”

“We’ve just kept barely missing each other,” Rin says into his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t make it past semis in the 100 meter free here and. Well. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Haru says, and is somewhat surprised that his voice feels heavy and comes out sounding raspy from the tightness there. Rin’s arms around him tighten, ever so slightly. 

“There’s still the 200-meter free, right? And the relay. You’ll be fine.”

“You already qualified for Tokyo, didn’t you?” Haru asks. 

That gives Rin pause. He pulls away slightly, and seems to realize they’ve been hugging for much longer than what might be considered normal. Not that Haru has ever cared about normal. He pulls away and runs a hand along the back of his hair. Haru misses the warmth of him almost instantly.

Rin is frowning at him, squinting his eyes in that annoying way of his that means he’s seeing right through Haru, straight to the tangled-up mess of his feelings. 

“Don’t go doubting yourself now, all of a sudden,” Rin says. “This isn’t about Wahlander again, is it?”

“I won’t win if he’s in the water with me,” Haru replies, all in a rush, the secret out of him at last. “The water likes him better.”

“You always get so bent out of shape whenever things don’t go exactly your way.”

“No I don’t!” Haru says, genuinely offended. 

Rin takes him by the shoulders, both hands flat so that the side of his thumbs graze the edge of his collarbone under the v-neck hemline. He’s frowning, the same thunderous look he wears when he’s truly angry. 

“You’re going to Tokyo with me,” he says, shaking Haru so roughly he feels vaguely harassed. “We’re swimming together in the Olympics, ok? Don’t think about anything else. Just think about getting there. Just one more step.”

“Rin, I--” 

“No, shut up. I don’t want to hear it,” Rin interrupts rudely. 

Haru scowls, imagining briefly the way this conversation would have gone if he’d been sensible and talked out his doubts with Makoto instead. 

“You’re such an ass,” Haru finally says. “I don’t know why I like you.”

“You like me because I’m an asshole,” Rin says, and even though he’s grinning like a shark when he says it, the tips of his ears still go red. Haru grins smugly at the sight, and gets pushed none-too-gently in retaliation. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“I’m going home,” Haru objects, but he still falls into step beside Rin as he turns and walks away from the pier. 

“I’ll cook you mackerel,” Rin says, and he sounds much too smug for Haru’s liking.

However--

“Fine.”

*

The irony doesn’t escape Haru that they go to Rin’s hotel when Haru is still living in Tokyo, less than 20 minutes away. But it does save him from Makoto’s supportive, sympathetic stares, and having to share Rin at all. After all, everyone knew Rin would be in town for the World Cup when it ended up being in Tokyo, and no doubt Makoto has been trying to get Rin to meet up with them since July ended, probably. But it means something, Haru thinks, that he’s not with them right now.

It means something that it’s Haru by Rin’s side right now; just the two of them staring at the outside of a swanky-looking hotel. If only Haru were brave enough to figure out what.

“Come on,” Rin says into the silence.

“It’s an upgrade,” Haru says, which causes Rin to huff out a laugh and bump shoulders with him as he enters through the sliding glass doors.

It’s a long, silent elevator ride up to the seventeenth floor, and Haru pauses at the threshold to the room, impressed. It’s about the size of Haru and Makoto’s apartment, with a smaller kitchenette instead of a full kitchen and a much larger living room. He ignores the imposing King-sized bed tucked into the corner. The flatscreen takes up much of the space along the far wall, but it doesn’t quite distract from the huge bay windows overlooking the city skyline. 

Haru makes a beeline to the windows, transfixed by the sight of Tokyo Tower glowing warmly in the distance. It’s hard to see the stars this deep in the heart of Tokyo, but sometimes, the city lights can come pretty close. 

“It’s a good view,” Rin’s voice says from somewhere in the kitchenette. 

“Romantic,” Haru agrees. 

Haru hears the fridge door open and close behind him, then the telltale pop of a champagne bottle. Haru reluctantly turns back around and sees Rin sauntering his way, a flute of champagne in each hand. He’s blushing, just a little, but it’s enough to make Haru’s heart beat a little faster. “I heh. Was gonna save this for when we both qualified for the Olympics. Here.”

“My coach always says you shouldn’t count chickens before they hatch,” Haru answers with a straight face.

It makes a smile break out on Rin’s face, though, so Haru doesn’t feel bad taking the glass from him. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes,” Rin replies, then tilts his glass up, an invitation to toast. “Uh, to good luck?”

Haru doesn’t dignify that with an answer, but he does clink their glasses together softly, and watches Rin try to hide the warm look on his face behind his glass. They watch each other over the rim of their glasses, until Haru feels his cheeks warm from the scrutiny and has to look away. 

“You qualified in Adelaide,” Haru finally says into the charged silence. 

Rin’s eyes widen a fraction, like he’s surprised Haru would even pay attention to those kinds of details. A dumb assumption; Haru has always obsessed over Rin’s details. 

“Yeah,” he admits, and something strange happens in Haru’s stomach at the way an entirely new grin washes over Rin’s features. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why did you compete in Tokyo, then?”

“You know why, Haru,” Rin says, and then drains his glass in two long gulps. “Uh. I’m gonna fry us that Mackerel I promised. Also do you mind if I cook them with lemon leaves? I don’t want to get fined for the smell when I leave.”

“As long as you don’t ruin dinner,” Haru replies. 

He takes another sip of his drink and watches Rin’s hasty retreat back into the kitchen. He hesitates for a second, but then trails after him to lean against the doorway. Rin’s poured himself another glass of champagne, one that Haru plucks from his fingers before replacing it with his own empty glass. 

“Hey!” Rin complains, but he fills the second glass just the same. 

He sets the flute of champagne down on the table with a soft clinking sound. Then, Rin turns his attention back to their meal. Haru is suspicious. The leaves--brilliant green and only just starting to wilt--give off a fragrant burst of citrus that hides the mackerel smell quite well. Haru hopes it doesn’t effect the taste all too much. He takes another sip of his champagne. 

“I’m up for the 200 and the Relay tomorrow,” Haru starts as nonchalantly as he can. Rin hums softly. Obviously, he knows that already. He mentioned it earlier, right? His eyes briefly flicker up to Haru. Haru wonders what he’s thinking. “And the marathon the day after.”

That gets all of Rin’s attention. He takes a full step away from the burners, turns his scorching red gaze onto Haru instead. 

“You’ve never competed in that before.”

“I’ve been training for it.”

“Obviously, if you think you can qualify.” Rin grabs his flute of champagne and downs half of it in one gulp. “Christ Almighty,” he says, with a remarkably good Australian accent. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“That’s not what I--” But Rin cuts himself off. 

Haru watches his shoulders rise and fall, as if he’s taking a deep, calming breath. Then, he storms out of the little kitchenette and starts pacing the length of the living room. Haru saves the spatula where it’s balanced precariously against the edge of the counter and flips both pieces of Mackerel. His hands are remarkably steady; he’d expected them to tremble.

“I’ve upset you,” Haru tells the fish.

“No,” Rin says. Haru listens to his supposedly not-upset feet as they stomp around in the living room and disagrees. “You never mentioned it before.”

“We never talk outside of competitions.”

That gets all movement to stop for a moment. At least the angry stomping. Not five seconds later, Rin at his back again, his hand pressing into the space between Haru’s shoulders. 

“I’ve been trying,” Rin says. 

His voice has dropped to a sad, miserable-sounding whisper. Rin’s hand between his shoulder blades feels like the warm press of water when he first steps into an onsen. With a flick of his wrist, Haru flips the burners to their lowest setting and then turns to look at the unhappy slash of Rin’s mouth. 

“I’m not the one who doesn’t answer,” Rin says, his voice so quiet Haru could have imagined it had he not been staring so intently at Rin. 

Haru stares him down, trying to find the right words. How can he say that when Rin calls, the idea of his voice stretched out across thousands of miles becomes unbearable? How when he’s alone, there’s nothing more that he wants than for his phone to ring, but once it does, his blood boils with wanting? He always wants so much of Rin. He wants his voice pressed up against his ear, and he wants the force of his undertow while they swim side-by-side, and he wants Rin here, less than arms-distance away, all the time. All the time, so much sometimes he can hardly bear to move, he can hardly bear to speak to anyone who isn't Rin.

How can he say that every morning, he stares at Rin’s name in his phone and tries desperately to make his own fingers reach out first? 

It’s too much. He’s been told it’s too much. Makoto says it's unhealthy. 

He thinks he should apologize, but it seems he’s taken too long to respond again, because Rin is pulling away, his frown deeper than ever. His eyes are a little brighter too, like he's holding something in.

“I’m sorry,” Haru forces out of his mouth, which has the intended effect in that it gets Rin to stop frowning at least. “I. It’s too much.”

“Yeah, I get it. I'm not mad. It’s whatever Haru. Let’s just--”

“No,” Haru says, and grabs Rin roughly by the wrist. His grip is so tight it surely must be uncomfortable, but Rin hardly seems to notice. He stares unblinkingly back at Haru. A challenge,just like always. “I want to hear your voice. All the time. That’s why it’s too much.”

He watches in real-time as the back of Rin’s neck flushes scarlet. It’s almost the same shade of his hair before he eventually pulls away. 

“Well, pick up next time then,” Rin says, although there’s a small, private smile that’s taken the place of the frown, so Haru ignores how whiny he sounds. A long silence stretches between them, where only the casual sizzling of their food can penetrate. Then, Rin takes another deep breath, downs the contents of his glass, and says, “I can’t swim 10k with no training. That’s why I’m upset.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know!” Rin says, waving his now empty glass around dramatically. “But I want to swim with you! That’s what I mean! I can't swim 10k at the Olympics! It’s too close!”

“Oh,” Haru says, and then finds he has nothing at all to add. Rin is still blushing furiously, but now at least there’s a scowl to go with it. 

“I can’t believe how belligerent you are,” Rin says into the silence. When he sets his glass back down on the counter, it clatters ominously from the force. “I always want to swim with you, you absolute bastard. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Rin is staring at him with the eyes of a predator again. It’s the intense stare that he always aims at Haru just before they end up pushing each other bodily around and proclaiming their anger and feelings. Something hot builds up in his stomach at the promise of a fight (at the promise of something, at any rate). Haru turns 180 and goes back to the fish. 

“I want to swim with you too. You know that,” Haru tells the fish. He turns the burner off, then adds, “Mackerel’s done.”

There’s a heavy sigh behind him. Rin pulls a few flimsy paper plates out of somewhere and elbows Haru out of the way. 

“Yeah, I know,” Rin says, but he’s back to being sad. 

If he had a training manual for all of Rin’s moods and reactions, he thinks this would be much easier. Rin hands a plate of mackerel to Haru, who looks down at it for probably much too long. When he looks up again, Rin has moved over to the other side of the kitchenette, where two stools sit side by side along the counter. Haru hurries to follow. 

When he takes a bite of his meal, he’s surprised to find that he likes it. The lemon leaves have left it tasting brighter, but without taking away any of the delicious mackerel taste.

“Oh, it’s good,” Haru says, which causes Rin to burst into unexpected laughter.

“I’m glad it meets your expectations.” He’s smiling again. The warmth in Haru's stomach is back, only its moved up into his chest as well. "Look Haru," he says after the laughter has died down. He sets his plastic dinnerware down and pins Haru with that inscrutable stare of his. "I asked you here to tell you something."

"That I should answer my phone more often, I know.”

“No!” Rin says, but then pauses, tilting his head as he thinks about it. He grins again. “That too. But. Ok, look.” Another deep, steadying breath. “You ever want something so bad you're too afraid to reach for it?”

"When have you ever been afraid of anything in your life?"

"Just the one thing, lately," is Rin's quick response.

Haru ogles him, somewhat disbelieving. Here is a guy who has had the same steadfast, impossible dream since elementary school and somehow actually achieved it. The same guy who upended his entire life, just for a chance at that dream. What could he possibly be afraid of?

Some of the disbelief must show on his face, or else the silence has stretched on for long enough to make Rin uncomfortable, because something changes in Rin’s eyes. Some of his spark is gone, and a heaviness sets over his shoulders. Haru doesn’t like it. 

"We can't all be as fearless as you," he says. 

Haru opens his mouth, still unsure of his own retort, but Rin beats him to it. Slowly, he reaches across the counter and takes Haru's hand. Their entwined hands rest ever so gently against Haru's thigh. Haru can feel clammy press of Rin's palm against his own; it has a faint tremor, light enough to only be felt. 

Haru's insides get all mixed up. He feels hot and cold and nauseous and thrilled all at once. He gets it. With a gentle tug to gets Rin's eyes on him again, Haru squeezes his hand. Rin squeezes back, vicelike. His expression is intense but unreadable. Afraid he'd said. His eyes are willing Haru to understand, and then--like a splash of cold water early in the morning--he does. 

"I'm afraid, too," Haru admits softly, and is rewarded by the tiny, hopeful smile that curls up against Rin’s mouth. “I’ve never been good at this kind of thing.”

“The people thing?” Rin asks, and there’s another grin on his face again; crooked. Rin bites his lip like he’s trying to keep it in. Haru thinks it’s a bad omen, and it’s confirmed when Rin goes, “Haru, you’re so dense with people that you could have your life-long rival flirt with you for your _entire damn life_ and still not get a clue.”

“Hey!” Haru starts, then pauses at the pretty flush starting up Rin’s neck again. “Your whole life?”

“Maybe,” Rin hedges, and tugs incessantly at Haru’s hand. 

Haru scoots closer at the insistence, watching the brightness in Rin’s eyes light up again. His happiness feels like the cool unrelenting rush of a waterfall in the summer. Contagious even, like it can fill him up and spill out of him just the same. Haru feels the corners of his lips curl up. 

Rin leans over towards him, until Haru thinks it would serve him right if he overbalanced and toppled off his stool. That doesn’t happen though. Instead, Rin looms ever closer, until his breath is a hot fan against his face, and his nose only just tingles where Rin’s own is lightly pressing against him. 

“Can I?” the breath of Rin’s voice whispers against his skin, and Haru scarcely has time to nod his head before Rin’s crossing the last bare centimeters and pressing his mouth against Haru’s. 

It’s not an explosion behind his eyes, or a revelation, or anything as dramatic as that. Rin’s lips are soft, and they tingle where they touch Haru’s. He presses closer, harder, and Rin responds slowly, haltingly opens his mouth. It’s slippery, hot, just a little bit electric. Haru surprises himself when he makes the tiniest sound in the back of his throat. Rin pulls away, his grin wider than ever, his lips bright from kissing. Haru wants to pull him back and keep doing it. He brings up his hand and traces the edge of his lower lip, chasing the phantom tingling Rin’s lips left behind. 

Rin’s eyes are dark, intense; they’re the eyes he wears when they’re staring at each other from neighboring lanes. Their hands are still clasped tightly together against Haru’s knee. While he wasn’t paying attention, Rin had threaded their fingers together. Haru likes it. Now, Rin’s other hand comes up and cups the side of Haru’s head. 

Softly, softly. Haru’s eyes threaten to close from the aching tenderness.

“Stay with me tonight,” Rin says all in a rush. 

Haru stares and stares and stares: at the look in Rin’s eyes, at the flush starting from his neck and slowly spreading, at the tight clench of their hands. 

“Yeah,” Haru says. 

And he stays. 

(The next day, Haru takes first at the two-hundred and swims a personal best in the relay. He makes Rin come with him when his whole team goes out to celebrate, and then again when Makoto and his friends invite them over afterwards. Their hands stay entwined the whole time. Haru doesn’t think of Albert Wahlander the whole time, and he’d been in the lane to his right.

Haru thinks, no offense to his coach, but maybe the most important rule of competitive swimming is to swim from the heart after all.

And the next day, when Haru swims ten kilometers straight and somehow qualifies for the Olympics there too by the skin of his teeth, Rin pulls him onto dry land and buries him in a tight, all encompassing hug. His whole body is shaking from exhaustion or dehydration or happiness, Haru can’t quite tell. But he does find the strength to pull his arms around Rin’s shoulders and hold on for dear life.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Follow me on social media if you want shit posting or just want to cry about fandom stuff 
> 
> Twitter: @AlphaAo3  
> Pillowfort: alpha_hydra  
> Tumblr: alpha-hydra


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